


I Found It (All On My Own)

by eliotthawke



Category: Formula 2 RPF, Formula 3 RPF
Genre: Christmas AU, Gen, some feels and some banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:55:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21955834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliotthawke/pseuds/eliotthawke
Summary: Callum and Marcus have to host a Christmas party, and a lot of things go wrong
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	I Found It (All On My Own)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [g0ldendays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/g0ldendays/gifts).

> This is a work of fiction, in no way do I claim to know people portrayed in this fic or state that these are their personalities. There is no romantic plot, the dynamic portrayed is friendship so if that's not what you want to read about then you probably should keep looking. This work is not to be shared with people I have used in it as characters. 
> 
> Lou, my christmas gift to you took way longer than I thought it would, but if you enjoy this then it was all worth it. Love you and Merry Christmas!

1

Christmas hasn't even come yet, and it was already a disaster.

"This is ridiculous," Callum huffed and scrolled through the message on his phone again as if that would change its contents. "Why are we supposed to host a Christmas dinner? We're _ racing drivers _."

Marcus stood in the doorway, summoned by Callum's outburst at receiving the message, his expression matched that of his roommate. He thought it was funny, underneath the annoyance, while Callum clearly didn't.

"Kind of pointless to argue if they already arranged it," he said, trying as always to smooth out Callum's sharp angles. "Everyone's coming."

"We don't even have room for that many people, man," Callum got up with a roll of his eyes and threw the phone across the couch, pacing around their shoebox apartment. "I don't know first thing about cooking dinners and neither do you. Are you sure this isn't a joke?"

"Have you ever known Ferrari to joke?" Marcus and Callum exchanged a look. Callum sighed in defeat. "Didn't think so."

It was the 23rd of December, a gray rainy day in Maranello, Italy, and it was meant to be just like any other day because neither of the apartment's inhabitants really cared for Christmas that much. Until the message arrived and informed them of an oncoming flow of visitors, that is.

"Does it say when they're gonna get here?" Marcus nodded at Callum's discarded phone. His roommate gave it a dirty look like the phone itself was guilty of something and didn't reply, so Marcus was forced to grab it and see for himself. With an ease that spoke of habit he slid his finger across the screen to unlock it.

"Oh," he said with surprise in his voice. "Enzo isn't coming. Just Rob and Mick."

Callum let out a laugh.

"I assume he doesn't trust our cooking skills."

"No, it says he's in Brazil and can't possibly make it here and back home for Christmas," Marcus read out.

"I don't trust our cooking skills either."

It was Marcus's turn to glare.

"Oi," he scolded. Rain knocked on the window, and it was the least Christmas-y weather Marcus could think of. And he grew up in New Zealand, so that was saying something. Callum was still pacing, but what Marcus found irritating in other people had no power to annoy him coming from Callum. Immunity from exposure, his mum liked to say.

"They will be here at 6," Marcus said with another look at the phone. "Mick is driving from his house, and he's picking up Rob at Geneva airport. That gives us 8 hours to make this place clean and cook them a dinner."

"He's really gonna drive for 5 hours? In that weather?" With another eye roll Callum fell over on the couch, backwards. Marcus wanted to retort with something like "Was that all you heard?" but thought better of it and just set Callum's phone down next to him.

"What are we gonna do about food?"

"We can order it in a restaurant and say we cooked it." Callum's face was upside down, but Marcus could see his cunning smirk.

"Dude," Marcus said with reproach. "I will not stoop that low. And if it's horrible, it'll be funny watching them try and eat it," he suggested, corners of his mouth curling up.

"Have you considered we will also have to eat that horrible whatever we make?" Callum seemed determined to stay grumpy, but then again that was his default setting most of the time. "Screw that. I'm not cooking, mate, no way."

"Then you're cleaning," Marcus allowed himself a grin. God, he hated cleaning, memories of his mum forcing him to do the dishes and vacuum were still very fresh in his mind. He'd much rather take his chances against a stove and some pots. Callum on the couch wiggled his shoulders in a way that signified contempt and begrudging agreement.

Thinking of his mum gave Marcus some hatchings of a plan, so as he grabbed his coat and car keys and headed out, he dug his own phone out of the pocket and pressed a speed dial button.

"Hey mum. Yeah, I'm all good. It's just, I kinda need your help..."

2

Callum knew he had to get up and clean, but stayed on the couch long after Marcus went out. He wasn't in the greatest of moods already. Ferrari business forced him to fly off to Italy two days before Christmas, and his family went on for a holiday vacation without him. And now, the prospect of hosting a dinner he had no desire to host, for the guests he didn't intend to invite only made things worse.

With a sigh, he heaved himself off the couch and looked around to access damage. Clothes, chargers, papers, more clothes, console controllers, stray empty plates and mugs and an odd takeout wrapper, and oh, more clothes. How in the blazes did this tiny place get so full of crap, he would never know. After what seemed like hours of bending down and back up, snatching at stuff and finding a place for it, he finally was able to see results. Plates and mugs were taken to the kitchen, papers shoved in a drawer or the trash bag depending on their deemed importance. Clothes were just as unceremoniously stuffed in the washing machine, and random crap that Callum couldn't find a place for was piled on the sofa while Callum looked for a box to put it in and hide. The goal was containment, so he only aimed to get the stuff out of immediate line of view.

After final bits of clutter were cleaned away, Callum dragged out the vacuum and went around the place, but his phone vibrated against his thigh, and he dropped the hose to answer it without even looking at the caller ID. Whoever it was couldn't be worse than cleaning.

"Hello." Where the hell was Marcus? Did he go to France for food or what?

"Hey, man," Callum heard Max's familiar voice. He knew it well enough to recognize the falsely cheerful tone he had going on.

"What's up?" Callum asked and was greeted by silence on Max's part and background noise that sounded like he stood in the middle of the road. Maybe he was.

"Uhhhh," Max trailed off, then, with a short sigh: "I might have missed my plane back to the UK."

"Might have," Callum prompted, holding back a laugh. For such a tiny person Max sure managed to create a lot of disaster wherever he went. Or wherever he didn't go, as was the case right now.

"Dude, it wasn't even my fault, that taxi driver- Ugh," Max cut himself off with a grunt and a cough. The noise behind him continued to annoy Callum.

"So why are you calling me? Just book the next flight."

"I can't, there's no tickets! Everyone's flying tonight!" Max let out another frustrated noise and continued more calmly, "Can I crash at yours for one night?"

"You're not gonna catch a flight tomorrow either," Callum said and pushed the vacuum away. Normally, he would welcome a friend to hang around his place. Normally, he didn't have a Christmas dinner fall on his head out of the blue. Normally was also not how his life usually went these days.

At this point, one guy less or one guy more didn't really matter.

"Sure thing, man." Callum thought he heard a hint of a relieved sigh but he could have imagined it in the cacophony of background noise. "Where are you?"

"Bologna airport," Max said, again trying to hide all his emotions behind a casual tone.

"What the hell are you even doing there?" Middle of Italy seemed like out of the way of everything Max had any reason to be around. Max's voice became careful, guarded.

"Can't really say, dude."

And Callum guessed it had something to do with things like "winter break" and "new contract" and "looking for a drive", but thought that he had the right to be nosy.

"Aw, c'mon. It's me, I'm not going after F3 seats," Callum tried. He looked out the window, but there was no sign of Marcus.

"_ You _ might not be," Max said, tone unchanged, and shuffled around awkwardly. The implication was obvious, and Callum had no knowledge if his roommate had found himself a drive yet.

"I get it," he said in a softer voice than he expected from himself, because he knew the feeling too well: always wondering if you're secure enough in your seat. Always looking back on others. Always terrified of disappearing into oblivion if you make the wrong choice, sign with the wrong team, choose the wrong strategy in the one race it matters. It was hard to ignore. "Just hang around there, I'll pick you up as soon as Marcus comes back with the car," Callum said as the pause was getting too long. "He's gone to the store, so shouldn't be long."

(If he hadn't gone to fucking France, after all.)

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it." Max just sounded tired now, as tired as Callum felt.

The call dropped, and Callum halfheartedly continued his cleaning attempts, turning the vacuum back on.

With a bang, the front door flew open as Marcus kicked it in.

"Honey, I'm home!" he yelled over the noise, which echoed through the entire building. Callum switched off the vacuum and turned to his roommate, smile slowly working its way onto his face. Both Marcus's hands were full of grocery store bags in various states of wetness and falling apart and it was unclear how he even managed to fit them all in the car _or_ unlock the door. Callum wordlessly walked over and relieved Marcus of as many bags as he could, taking them to the kitchen. Marcus muttered "thanks" and followed him after kicking off his shoes.

"I'm gonna need the car keys," Callum said when the bags with all sorts of food poking out were deposited on the kitchen table.

"Not a great time to take a drive around," Marcus frowned. "We only got six hours left."

Callum smiled enigmatically.

"We've got an unexpected addition to the party that I have to go and pick up."

3

Max waited at the busy airport parking lot for what seemed like ages, when finally a honking tiny FIAT announced Callum's arrival. 

"Took your time," Max said as he got in the car, and Callum grinned in response. 

"Not my fault Marcus drove to another country for groceries."

Max snorted as the car started moving again. He didn't bother putting his bag in the boot and now it was crammed awkwardly between his legs, and the bleak Italian landscape outside the window displayed exactly how he was feeling. It was one thing to miss a plane and make a complete fool out of himself (he would probably never live this down), but it was made all the worse by calling home. His mother sounded disappointed but not that sad, and she didn't ask him anything besides where he would be spending the night. Even his brother didn't sound like he cared. 

"Cheer up, man," Callum said. "I don't have much faith in Marcus cooking a decent Christmas dinner, but it beats sitting around in an airport."

"Christmas dinner?" Max was so surprised he forgot about his misfortunes for a second. "Since when do you guys do Christmas dinners?" 

"Since Ferrari tells us to," Callum sighed and explained how Max wasn't going to be the only guest in their house tonight. This had both improved his mood and made it worse, somehow. It was nice to know there would be other people and Callum and Marcus would be busy entertaining them, but it was distressing to be an uninvited guest at an otherwise closed party. 

"What are they thinking, making you all fly around the day before Christmas?" Max wondered. This seemed like a holiday to spend with family, not your racing rivals. 

"I would love to know," Callum mumbled through gritted teeth, "But I wasn't involved in their thought process."

"Probably for the best, knowing Ferrari," Max joked dryly and was rewarded with a cackle. 

Soon enough they arrived in Maranello, greeted by light rain and icy roads. Callum parked the car near an apartment building, and they went in quickly, taking the elevator to the sixth floor. Callum glanced back at Max to make sure he was still following him and unlocked the front door. 

"It's not much, but it's home sweet home," he laughed, and Max joined him at the sight of piles of shoes on the floor and coats and jackets for every season crowding on the hooks. His mother would have a field day. 

"So is everyone here already, then?"

"No," Callum shook his head and noisily took of his rustling winter jacket. "They're coming by at six."

At that moment, Callum's roommate appeared from the kitchen, visible steam trailing behind him. 

"Fancy seeing you here," Marcus said and leaned on the doorway. 

"Didn't plan on that," Max said, tone apologetic. "Didn't mean to crash your exclusive FDA Christmas party, either."

Marcus stretched out a hand for a quick handshake, and Max accepted it.

"What about the exclusive Renault parties we don't get invited to?" Callum wondered in an obnoxiously loud voice as he pushed Max's small suitcase out of the way and hung up his coat. 

"Oh, shut up, Callum," Marcus rolled his eyes. Callum's jacket fell off its hook because it was already full of clothes. "You don't even want to attend the FDA parties." 

"Sure I do," his roommate argued, lifting it back up and throwing it on a different hook where it stayed. "When they're not in my house."

"Fair enough," Max laughed. For a split second he imagined having to host a Renault party at his and knew in an instant that Jack, Guanyu, Caio and Christian together would leave smoking ruins of his house (probably with some help from his brothers).

Callum disappeared with Max's bag into what was presumably the spare bedroom, leaving Max and Marcus alone. Max didn't know what to do with himself, the awkwardness of his situation weighing on him, so he just shuffled around and hugged his arms to his sides. 

"You haven't decorated?" He asked as he looked around the small living room where most of the space had been taken up by a couch and a matching armchair. 

"We don't really care," Marcus admitted with a laugh, and Max caught his evaluating gaze out of the corner of his eye. He paused a little, then said, "If you're gonna eat our food you're helping make it," and nodded towards the kitchen.

Max was sure he understood it right and this was Marcus's way of letting him know he was accepted in. He broke into a smile and mustered up his best american accent. 

"Sure, boss. What do I do?"

"Right this way, sir," Marcus grinned in response, gesturing to the door as if he was a hotel servant, and went in without waiting for Max who followed him, just a little bit of the weight lifted off his shoulders. 

4

Marcus thought he was okay at cooking.

Really, considering he had to move out at 14 and live on his own when most of his friends stayed back in New Zealand and would continue to rely on their mothers, - Marcus thought he was alright. His food might not be earning any Michelin stars but it was edible, nutritious (although that part had to do with his physio, Marcus had to admit), and it was varied. Marcus was rather proud of himself, if he were being totally honest.

Looking at the steam clinging to the windows from pots on the stove, Marcus was forced to reconsider. The mashed potatoes were the easy part - and Max was doing the mashing, anyway. The gravy he had poured his heart and soul into didn't look exactly like the one his mother made, but the boys didn't know how it normally looked so it would pass. And Marcus was grateful for Max's tireless assistance because Callum dragged a Christmas tree to the middle of their living room and declared he was busy decorating and that kitchen wasn't big enough for the three of them anyways. ("Even with midgets like you two I doubt there's space to stick a finger in!" were Callum's exact words. Marcus and Max exchanged offended looks in mutual agreement to get back at him for that and continued with the cooking.)

The problem was the sweet sauce in a small pot, which was currently neither sweet nor a sauce.

Okay, maybe Marcus was not that great at cooking.

"I don't think any of my workouts have hurt my biceps as much," Max complained as he washed the potato masher.

"Maybe they just treat you gently at Renault," Marcus wiggled his eyebrows as he showed off his own upper arm muscles. (He might have been a little too proud of those, but unlike the cooking, not without reason.)

"Gently?" one of Max's flawless eyebrows arched up. "Ever biked 700 kilometers across Europe?"

"Looking at this stuff," Marcus leaned over the damned sweet sauce, "I think I'd rather bike than cook."

"Dude, let's just do the roast chicken," Max suggested. "No one's gonna care if there's any sauce with it or not." Seeing that Marcus was wavering, he continued. "We still got dessert to make, we have no time to re-do the sauce. Just leave it."

Marcus nodded in agreement, admitting failure, and became aware of Callum hovering in the doorway, a piece of red tinsel wrapped around his head like a winter version of a flower crown. A dumb smile wandered on his face, and Marcus knew this was the second of Callum's moods - overly giggly and too hyper to be allowed near kitchen appliances.

Max noticed Callum as well and didn't bat an eyelid at his appearance.

"Hey, man. You gonna help us now or what?"

"He's not here to help," Marcus answered, voice tired. "He just smelled the chocolate."

All three boys eyed the construction on the hob that consisted of a boiling pot, a bowl placed precariously on top and chunks of chocolate in the process of melting inside it.

"That's for the brownies, not for you," Max said in a stern tone.

"I just want a little," Callum said, still smiling, and Marcus quickly moved shoulder to shoulder with Max so that they were blocking his way to the stove. This close to his disaster of a roommate, Marcus smelled another kind of sweet scent.

"You already ate something!" He accused. Realization hit him in a second. "The candy I bought! It was for everyone! Oh, you bastard..."

"Time out," Max mumbled, and together they pushed Callum out of the kitchen, back into the living room - and froze. In the few hours they were gone, Callum (undoubtedly progressively more sugar-high) has transformed the place so that now it was drowning in decorations. Tinsel hugged the ceiling light, a wreath hung on the wrong side of the front door, a string of lights adorned the bathroom door, lavishly covered with yet more tinsel, and the Christmas tree... Oh, the Christmas tree was so packed with baubles and garlands and at least three different fairy lights strings that it was hard to see the tree itself.

"Oh my- Christ," Max let go of Callum to hide his face in his hands.

"This looks like a middle-schooler's work," Marcus deadpanned.

"About right then," Max replied.

"What are you guys talking about! This is awesome! Christmas is coming," Callum grinned and fell on the couch into empty bauble boxes and decoration containers. "I even made you guys tinsel crowns, all red and a yellow one for you," he pointed at Max.

The two boys exchanged another look. Max's said, "_ Is it always like this around here? _ " and Marcus's said, " _ What the hell are we going to do with him? _" Since neither gaze contained any answers, they looked away just as puzzled as before. Callum sat up.

"God, Marcus, do you have to always be such a try hard?"

Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it, realizing Callum could not be argued with in this state. Max, however, clearly didn't know any better.

"Hey! Cut that out," he picked up an empty box from the floor and lightly threw it in Callum's direction, who ducked it easily and pouted.

"I don't know why you guys are being downers. Just cause none of you have landed a contract yet-"

Marcus saw Max shake his head with a laugh, but he also noticed how serious his ever-smiling eyes were in that moment. What was he doing here, in Italy, days before Christmas? How did he end up stranded here and did Callum know something that resulted in this joke?

What Callum didn't know, of course, was how little truth in it was for Marcus. He had a drive, he just couldn't tell people. That was a different kind of a not-ideal situation, but now he and Max were in one boat and over-hyper, unknowingly offensive Callum was in the other.

Marcus's phone rang.

"Oh, great, it's Rob" he mumbled, seeing that the caller ID. If it meant that he and Mick were already here before they were done cooking, it would be a nightmare. No way he and Max can ward off the three of them off of chocolate.

"Hey, Marcus," Rob greeted, and Marcus said hi back. Callum fished out one last piece of candy from a party-sized bag Marcus had bought and sent it into his mouth.

"What's up, man," Marcus looked at Max who suddenly looked uncomfortable again, undoubtedly reminded by the call that he was crashing a party he had not been invited to.

"Well," Rob squeaked, and Marcus knew what he was going to say a second before he heard it. "The car broke down, and we're in the middle of nowhere. Can you come get us?"

Marcus had to laugh, because this day just kept getting better. He put the phone away from his face and turned on the loudspeaker.

"Sorry I didn't get that," he said. "Can you say it again?"

Rob obligingly repeated, and Marcus watched the other two react to this news. It was Max who rolled his eyes, covered his face and fell into an armchair; Callum continued to chew on the candy with a gleeful smile, which made Marcus wonder if he even registered sentences anymore. Rob sounded very much on edge, so Marcus decided to stop torturing him.

"I'm coming, tell me where you are," Marcus sighed and tapped on his phone to open the maps.

"Errr-" Rob stalled, and Marcus rubbed his eyes. This was going to be a long night.

"Can you give Mick the phone?" he asked, knowing that it wasn't his first drive on that route and he'd be luckier asking Mick for directions.

"He's trying to fix it," Rob said. "Hold on."

He struggled with the door and after it shut behind him, there was a minute of fumbling and rustling before Mick's voice echoed from the phone.

"Hi, sorry to interrupt what must be a lovely marriage experience of cooking a dinner with Callum-"

Max laughed, short and breathy, Marcus only shook his head. The 'old married couple' jokes were long since funny.

"You're not doing a great job convincing me to go get you two," Marcus fired back, but they all knew it was a blank bullet and rescue wasn't negotiable.

"You wouldn't leave us broken down in pouring rain somewhere on a highway on Christmas, would you?" Mick was smiling as he said that, and Marcus tried really hard to remain stoic.

"This is Italy and your last name is Schumacher. I think it's not too hard for you to find help," he said and heard Rob protest something unintelligible; Mick must have his phone on speaker too. "And it's not even Christmas, drama queen."

"Fine. We're parked near a toll booth on the exit off the E35 about 15 minutes before Parma," Mick said which completely caught Marcus off guard. Max signaled a thumbs-up, telling Marcus that he wrote it down, and Marcus nodded thanks. "Come get us when you're done bickering with Callum."

He hung up the phone, and Marcus looked at Max who pursed his lips, and then they both stared at Callum who was still lying down, not appearing like he heard the conversation at all.

"You don't have to go with me," Marcus said, a perspective of a night time drive in the rain bleak ahead of him. Max scoffed, jerking his chin towards the couch.

"And what am I gonna do with him? No dude, I'm going."

"We can't leave him here," Marcus said helplessly. A perspective to babysit Callum while trying to drive was even less appealing. "He'll burn down the house, or fall out of the window, or do whatever the hell else toddlers do when left unattended."

"Then we're all going," Max got up and stretched. "I'll put the chocolate in the fridge."

5

Rain splattered on the windshield as the car, steadily driven by Marcus, accelerated down the highway. It was dark, only yellow headlights swallowing patches of the asphalt in front of cars. It was also eerily quiet, with the radio silent as they drove, and it only added to the awkwardness Max has been feeling all day.

"Turn on the radio, Marcus," Callum whined in the backseat. Max glanced at him in the rear-view mirror - he was still wearing the stupid tinsel crown and he was pouting.

"This car has strict policies against Mariah Carey," Marcus replied. Max snorted - that was understandable, and seeing as every radio station was playing the same three Christmas songs now, he was suddenly grateful for the silence.

"Oh well," said Callum cheerfully, "_ Deck the halls- _"

"Oh for God's sake," Marcus took one hand off the steering wheel to press to his forehead. Callum decided to ignore him and continued to sing the carol really, really badly even though the melody was so simple it was almost impossible to mess up.

Max stared out of the window, noise easily tuned out when he thought about his situation. Three days and two different team bases, and he was no closer to signing a deal. Sure, he could stay with ART but it didn't go that well this year and he wanted a shot with some other team, but it wasn't likely to happen. 

He felt a touch on his elbow and looked over - Marcus was trying to get his attention, and Callum was still in his own world, singing Christmas songs. 

"Sorry about him," Marcus said and turned back to the empty road ahead. "You're all quiet, man."

"Uh, yeah, it's not you guys," Max smiled, trying to smooth this out. Marcus had accepted him into his house no questions asked, and did his best to make Max feel at ease. Max didn't want him to think he was taking it for granted. "Just thinking on stuff, nothing much."

"Missing home and your mum's cooking?" Marcus grinned. "I know I am."

"Well, it's my own fault, so not really," Max said, suddenly deciding to be truthful. 

"_Sing we joyous all together_ _ _-_" _Callum cut in with an especially loud line, and Marcus signed in exasperation and handed him the AUX cord. 

"Here, you can play your damn Christmas music, just quietly, okay? That or you’re doing dishes tonight," Marcus threatened when Callum opened his mouth to argue, then closed it back and gleefully plugged the cord into his phone. Sure enough, the first song he put on was Mariah Carey. Both Max and Marcus turned away with groans. 

"What’s it mean, then?" Marcus asked, quietly and curiously. "Your own fault."

"Missed my plane home, and there’s no tickets because it’s the day before Christmas Eve."

"That’s okay," Marcus nodded. "We’ve all been there. I once missed a plane because I couldn’t find my socks and that was the only pair I’d brought."

That made Max laugh, and definitely made him feel better about his own epic fail. And because it seemed like an invitation and because Marcus’s eyes were kind, Max decided to ask.

"So why are you not in New Zealand? Surely you could make it, I know from Callum your team duties ended yesterday."

A sad smile graced Marcus’s face. 

"No point flying there and back two times a week. It’s 30 hours, shortest route, and I have to be in Europe again on January the 3rd. So I decided not to go at all."

Callum’s already unbearable cheerful music sounded false now, too cheerful for three boys who could not join their families and spend Christmas with them. All for different reasons, which were really one and the same - they all grew up a long time ago, when they decided they wanted to be racing drivers, and this was the life they chose. 

Max didn’t know what to say to provide Marcus with some comfort in his self-inflicted exile, and he wasn't given any time to think about it as they pulled up next to two tall silhouettes whose red jackets were bright in the headlights. Doors flew open, Callum yelled in protest as he was shoved from both sides at once, and two boys rushed to get settled and shut the doors to hide from the rain.

"You dick, my phone's all wet now!" Callum said in a way of greeting, generously elbowing Mick in the side.

"And a Merry Christmas to you too," Mick said. Quickly clasping hands with Marcus, he looked over at Max and smiled easily, "Hey man."

"Sup," Max raised his hand as a greeting, trying to play it cool because he hadn't properly met Mick until this point.

"Oh, hi Max," Rob said, and Max had to crane his neck to send a smile his way because he was sat right behind him. "What are you doing here, dude?"

"Trespassing," Marcus smiled knowingly as they drove off and offered no further information which Max was grateful for, then looked back at Mick in the rear-view mirror. "What the hell happened to your car anyway?"

"I got it towed off to Maranello," Mick explained as he combed his fingers through his damp hair. "We stayed behind. Don't know what broke, but could be overheating because I had a coolant leak last week. Couldn't smell anything, though."

"I should have got the train," Rob groaned, squished in the corner by Callum who was suspiciously quiet. Probably still wiping the water off his phone, Max thought. Rob wiggled in his seat some more and hit his head on the low ceiling. "This car is not big enough for all of us."

"You can ride on the roof if you want," Callum offered with a pleasant smile. "Not my fault you're a giant."

"Says you!" Mick argued and gestured at Callum's puffy winter jacket. "Look how much space you're taking up!" 

"This is my car! I can take as much space as I want!"

"There is space on the roof," Rob cut in with a giggle. 

"Or in the trunk," Mick suggested. 

A honk made them all jump, and Max looked over to see it was Marcus, frowning at them in the rearview mirror. 

"Alright, quiet down all of you. First of all, Callum, this isn't your car. Second of all, the next person who distracts the driver gets to walk back home in the rain. Deal?"

The three in the backseat exchanged looks. A small smile appeared on Callum's face as his phone lit up in his hand, and the music resumed at a much louder volume than before.

_ Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock _ _  
_ _ Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring... _

Max looked at Marcus, waiting for the eye roll or an exasperated string or swear words, but Marcus met his gaze, shrugged and joined in with Callum who was already singing along. Rob snorted and Mick looked positively dumbfounded, so Max started singing too, just for the hell of it.

_ Mix and a-mingle in the jinglin' feet _ _  
_ _ That's the jingle bell rock _

"Come on!" Callum encouraged, looking over at Mick and Rob while the instrumental part blasted through the speakers. Rob, ever the one to go with the flow, obliged with no further protest, adding his russian accent to Marcus's kiwi and Max's own english one. Callum, whose smile got wider and brighter with every new person joining in, was going to put the sun to shame soon, Max thought.

"Oh, whatever," Mick said and hummed along because he clearly didn't even know the words. Marcus pressed down on the throttle as they drove into the darkness, obnoxiously singing Christmas songs, and Max caught himself thinking that maybe this wasn't such a bad situation he found himself in, after all.

6

It was almost eight o'clock when Marcus finally stopped the car next to their house, and they all got out with moans and groans. Callum's legs were cramping and his neck hurt, and Rob who was next to him furiously rubbing at his eyes didn't look much better off.

"Bed time?" Callum poked him, Rob just blinked at him wearily. "Come on, Mother Russia, not yet. Food first, sleep later."

In they went, the five of them barely squeezing into the lift and promptly falling out of it as soon as the doors opened on their floor. 

The hallway of their tiny apartment was small already, but with five boys pushing and stepping on each other's feet it was positively claustrophobic. Callum was the last one in and as he closed the door he knocked down the wreath he himself had placed there. 

"Ow!" Max, whose head it fell on, pushed the decoration off him and glared. "Ruined my hair, man!"

"Your hair is beyond saving already," Callum laughed, discarding his shoes and placing the wreath back on the door hook. Max pouted. 

"That's true," he agreed. "Looks like a bird's nest today."

"Looks like that every day!" Callum ducked to avoid a swing and bumped his shoulder into Mick. 

"That's mean, dude," Mick scolded. 

"_ You _ wear a hat all the time," Rob chimed in from the living room which he and Marcus, as two functional people, have already reached after getting rid of their coats. 

"Yeah, I don't think your opinion counts." Callum agreed. The way in front of him finally cleared up and he was able to follow the rest of the guys into the room. 

"Stop your bickering and help me!" Marcus yelled in Callum's direction and disappeared into the kitchen. Callum decided he'd done enough to annoy Marcus for the day and should probably actually help, so he left the boys to their own devices and followed his roommate. 

Marcus was in the process of getting the food he and Max had prepared out of the fridge, and he looked over at Callum as he entered. 

"Get the plates and the glasses," he ordered. "Need to set the table." 

Callum knew all too well this kitchen was barely enough for two people sitting down for dinner, let alone five. 

"How the hell do you suggest we all eat here?"

"Not here," Marcus huffed and plopped a heavy pot on the countertop. "Drag it out into the living room and unfold it."

"You can unfold it?" Callum did not know that about their tiny square dinner table but judging by Marcus's glare, this was not the time to contemplate these things. 

The house was a beehive the next half an hour, with Callum enlisting Mick for help with the table while Rob moved the couch so it would serve as a seating place; Marcus had called in Max and they hastily finished baking the brownies while the other boys washed glasses and heated up food and looked for silverware for all of them. Finally, the table was set (they had no tablecloth, which Marcus winced at) and the mashed potatoes and gravy and roast chicken were served in their pots and pans because there were no serving plates (which Marcus swore at) and there was a shortage of glasses so one of them would have to drink out of a mug (which Marcus sighed in defeat at). But they were all finally seated around the table, Callum next to Rob on the couch, Mick and Max opposite of them and Marcus at the head of the table. 

Callum thought Marcus was being a bit ridiculous with the whole thing, but he also visited his home once and he had an inkling why Marcus was this way, so he didn't make fun of him. Instead he poured the drinks and then piled the food on his plate, feeling like this day was going on for a century. 

It was a bit of an awkward silence as they all sat around, the propriety of the dining table between them forbidding their usual silliness around each other. Somehow, it felt like Callum's responsibility to break it. Marcus was definitely rubbing off on him.

"So," he said, clapping his hands, "anyone got anything to share? Worthy of occasion?"

Callum saw Mick and Rob exchange a quick glance and knew others caught it as well. 

"What? What is it?" Marcus butted in and put down his mug which he insisted on drinking from himself. 

Rob looked like a deer in the headlights which Callum always found hilarious, but smiled a little and spoke.

"Well, I kind of do. I can't tell anyone really, but you guys know how these things are, I know you won't tell." Another glance at Mick, who nodded firmly, and he said, "I'm going to F2 next year, and Mick knows because he'll be my teammate."

Congratulations rang out, and Callum dragged Rob into a hug as others clapped him on the shoulder and shook his hand. 

"Good job, man," Max said with a smile, and turned to Marcus. "What about you?"

Marcus looked confused for a second, staring at the table in front of him to gain focus, and raised his eyes to meet Callum's. He shrugged. 

"I trust you guys, so... I'm going to F2 as well, with ART."

This was news to Callum, but news of the best sort. This meant next year they'd be in the same category, competing against each other, and Callum found himself wishing it would come sooner. There was another round of whoops and claps, congratulating Marcus, but Callum saw how he sent a guilty look Max's way and how Max's smile never reached his eyes. 

"Prepare to get beaten, then," Callum said when the noise died down. Marcus jutted his chin, challenge accepted instantly.

"We'll see about that."

"Ooh," Mick and Max howled in unison; Rob's eyes darted between them as if he was watching tennis. Callum, however, had something up his sleeve. 

"You see, I won't be racing a Sauber next year," he said calmly. "I'm racing at Virtuosi, and it's a winning car." 

More surprised faces, more claps, this time on Callum's shoulder. Marcus, trying not to lose face, smiled.

"So is ART. Nyck was champion this year or did you miss that, fighting in the lower classes?"

"I wasn't in lower classes!" Callum huffed. "Have you seen yourself in Macau?"

Max cackled into his hand and ducked, as if waiting for an explosion, and Mick and Rob had their jaws on the table. Marcus didn't even blink because this, as Callum knew, was just regular banter between them. 

"That's a low blow," Marcus's lips were twitching, which ruined the effect entirely. Callum's own poker face was crumbling, and a giggle escaped. Bursting into a laugh, he stretched his hand to Marcus's and it was accepted with a smile. "Congrats, man. This is big news, and I can't wait to get out there and see which one of us is better."

"You can settle your household disputes way easier now," Max suggested, taking a swig of his drink. "He qualifies below you, he's the one to take out the trash for the next week."

"Please stop giving him ideas," Marcus rolled his eyes and fell back in his chair. 

"But that's a good one!" Callum argued just for the hell of it at this point. "Unless you're scared you're slower than me." He had to giggle again at Marcus whose narrowed eyes and pursed lips were for some reason highly entertaining.

"Nobody's betting on us then," Mick said to Rob, and he shrugged. 

"We'll be the dark horses." 

"In a bright red car I don't think you could ever be," Max said, and Callum knew they all caught on the double meaning of his words, because knowing smiles were exchanged, and the topic was abandoned for a less competitive one. 

The food was gone in a split second, because they all had a long day and were tired and hungry, and Callum was glad Marcus made such giant pots of everything. Seconds and thirds were dispatched round the table, deserved compliments directed to Max and especially Marcus who shrugged it off as his mum’s recipes but everyone saw he was pleased. Conversation flowed more calmly now; Max and Mick were engaged in a discussion of vacation destinations, and Marcus was on his phone, sending a report to his mother as Callum saw when he had walked behind him on the way back from the bathroom. 

Callum sent a message to his own mom, currently on a cruise ship somewhere, to let her know he was okay and he missed them a lot, and then turned to Rob. 

"So, didn't you have anything better to do than drag your ass here two days before Christmas?"

Rob shook his head. 

"We don't celebrate Christmas on the 25th. Ours is in January, we celebrate New Year better." 

Callum was always charmed with Rob's faulty English, and never had the heart to tease him about it because Rob also spoke Italian near perfectly, and Callum couldn't say he knew two foreign languages, so he kept quiet.

"Still," Callum mused. "You didn't mind all this travel?"

"No," Rob shrugged. "It's fun, hanging out with you guys."

And just like that, Callum felt great fondness for everyone in this room, banded together in weird and unexpected ways but, as his parents liked to say, everything happens for a reason. Callum sipped his drink, feeling soft and sleepy and at home, and smiled to himself.

7

Marcus loaded the last set of dirty dishes in their small dishwasher and returned to the living room. The boys were sprawled on the couch which was returned to its ordinary spot, and all of them had stickers on their foreheads. Rob seemed to be having the worst of it, because his stick-it note said “Mahaveer Raghunathan” and he looked light-years away from guessing it. Marcus only shook his head, picked up the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch and quietly slipped outside, on the balcony. 

It was silent here, snow slowly setting on the railing which Marcus leaned on as he wrapped the blanket around him. The street lights below were providing just enough light so that it wasn't pitch black, but not like the brightly-lit, packed with decorations apartment. It was nice, and Marcus allowed himself to enjoy some solitude and relative peace that in the morning was so certainly promised to him only to be quickly taken away. 

Not even five minutes passed when he heard the door creak, and Callum’s big-eared head appeared. Wordlessly he joined Marcus by the railing, took off the tattered piece of tinsel he’s had on his head all day. For a while they stayed silent, because both were comfortable enough in each other’s presence without words. 

"You really miss it, huh?" Callum said finally, looking down on the street below. "Your family."

Marcus sighed. 

"That obvious?"

Callum breathed out, a quiet laugh. 

"Not to the other guys, I guess." He looked over, met Marcus’s gaze, and Marcus knew what he meant: that time they visited his home together, and how Marcus’s mum fussed over Callum all three days he stayed despite being busy with her own job and housework, and how she always demanded things be done properly for guests. He smiled a little, because it was too late now to change his mind and still go, and because Callum was in the same boat as him. 

"The dinner was great," Callum said, not a sign of mockery in his low voice. "Your mom would be proud."

It warmed Marcus’s heart to hear it, and he didn’t make an effort to contain a relieved sigh. Callum smiled, eyes crinkling, and then the door cracked open again. Max’s small frame was backlit by lights of every color coming from the room behind him, but he was quick to shut the door. 

"Out already?" Callum asked, still smiling. Max leaned back on the windowsill next to the door and pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands, the stick-it note still in them. 

"Piece of cake, really. I just had to ask whether I’m a sassy motherfucker," he explained. "And after that it was easy, either Jake Hughes or you."

He threw his head back, stared into the snowy sky. 

"So, spill the beans," Callum said to Max after a brief pause.

"What?"

"What are you doing here in Italy?" Marcus understood from Max’s eye roll that his roommate already tried and failed to get this information out of him. Callum, however, refused to give up. "Come on!" he leaned into him, knocking Max’s shoulder. "We’re all not competition to you anymore."

Max’s gaze shot downward, and Marcus saw his face crumble. 

"Callum, leave him alone," he said quietly but pointedly. The last thing Max needed was a reminder that everyone else at this party was now an F2 driver, except for him. 

"It’s okay," Max said. "I was in the talks with Trident and HWA, but that doesn’t look like it’ll work out." 

His tone was flat, and Marcus felt bad for him. 

"Something will turn up," he said, not knowing what else to tell him, and Max let out a heavy sigh. 

"I don’t want “something”. I want a team that can help me win the title." That brought a smile to Marcus’s face, and Max stared at him with a frown. "What?"

"That’s the spirit," Marcus put his hand on Max’s shoulder and squeezed a little. "That’s how I know you’ll get there. Just give it time."

"Yeah," Callum echoed. "Now with aces like Rob and Marcus out of your way, you can blast through all of them and win the thing no problem."

That got Max to laugh, and his shoulders relaxed, tension draining from him. Marcus and Callum exchanged a knowing look, and Max looked at Marcus with his smiling eyes. 

"Thank you, man. For everything."

"Should I leave you lovebirds alone?" Callum immediately said, putting on a fake offended voice.

"Shut up," Marcus took the arm off Max’s shoulder and used it to elbow his roommate in the stomach area. Callum lightly pushed him in response and then gasped loudly as Max grabbed a handful of snow and sent it down the back of Callum's shirt. Marcus high-fived him.

"Touchy," Callum mumbled, squirming with his hands behind his back to get rid of the snow. 

"You had that one coming, man."

"And I made you guys tinsel crowns," Callum said reproachfully. The door opened for the third time, and Rob's smiling face appeared.

"Is the party moving here? It's cold!"

"I can make hot chocolate," Mick jumped in behind him, crowding in the doorway. Everyone's eyes widened, and Marcus's own mouth fell open.

"We have stuff to make hot chocolate?!"

Mick nodded with a smile.

"So where is it? Bring it here!"

Mick disappeared and Rob walked past them to stand by on the railing on the other side of Callum. He was smiling sheepishly, contagiously, and Marcus smiled back at him.

"This balcony is too small," Callum noted, making no move to leave, and pulled the blanket off of Marcus's shoulders because he was in just a t-shirt. Marcus reluctantly let him have a corner of it, just enough for Callum to cover his back and arms.

"If only you were a midget," Marcus poked. Max snorted from his spot by the window, cuddled into his hoodie. It wasn't cold, not really, and the snow swimming through the air would probably melt tomorrow, so it was kind of perfect. Mick returned with five mugs balanced precariously in his hands and a fleece FDA jacket which Marcus recognized as Callum's because of a coffee stain on the sleeve. Mick gave it to Rob and settled in the corner next to Max. Callum's annoying Christmas music was playing from somewhere within the apartment, and Marcus wondered how his phone battery was still going.

Mick looked over the others, spoke softly.

"My mom would always make hot chocolate for me and Gina on Christmas day." 

"That's nice," Max said, matching his tone. "But this is nice, too."

There was sincerity in his voice, and it made Marcus feel like he himself was about to melt to liquid. Their gazes met, and he was glad to see Max return his smile. He still felt responsible if there was a party in his house and someone was feeling left out, but this didn't seem to be the case anymore.

"Yeah," Rob agreed sleepily and leaned his head on Callum's shoulder. "Didn't expect that."

"Are you saying we're bad hosts?" Callum challenged but without any real heat behind it. Must be the chocolate. "Marcus busted his ass preparing and I decorated just for you guys."

"Okay," Marcus stared at his roommate, surprised. "NOW you're saying that? What happened to "trying too hard"?"

He knew he was playing it up for the audience, that Callum already told him his efforts were not in vain, but couldn't stop himself. Callum liked to think he's a cool guy, would do him good to expose him a little.

Callum looked over, and his lips curled up.

"Maybe that's not a bad thing."

"Maybe," Marcus mused and considered pushing him but didn't want to disturb Rob who was still napping on Callum's shoulder. "Maybe you were the Grinch before because you didn't get to go on holiday with your mum and sister and now it's all of us and it's a proper thing. Maybe it was the sugar from all those sweets you ate, or maybe you're just secretly happy about how it turned out."

There was silence after, not the uncomfortable kind but the knowing kind, where everyone present realized that Marcus just spoke the truth that they might all see but not say out loud, and Callum held Marcus's gaze for a minute before his eyes crinkled and he grinned.

"May-be, may-be."

Marcus brought up his chocolate mug to hide a smile of his own, and Max aww'ed.

"This is so cute, you guys," Rob lifted his head up; Mick nodded.

"Alright, enough sappiness," Callum jumped up and finished off his chocolate. "Who wants to get their asses handed to them in League of Legends?"

"Oh no," Max muttered, while Rob's eyes lit up and Mick just looked confused. Marcus took back his blanket and was the first back inside, but stuck by the door to make sure it was closed while the boys walked past him and dropped on the couch, crowding their empty mugs on the table and arguing over seating. 

They ended up squished together on a couch that was too small for all of them, and even Marcus who didn't really do video games found himself invested in the game of League that was going on; they only had three controllers so for the first round it was Max, Callum and Rob. Max played well and Callum was horrible and Rob spent most of his time distracted by their shenanigans. Mick asked to have a go, and Max let him have his controller and explained how the game worked while Callum and Rob were conspiring in the corner, and their grand plan, as revealed when they entered a round, consisted mainly of leaving Mick to die alone while they ran off without him, which earned them both a smack with the controller before it was handed back to Max, and on it went...

And it was snowing still, white flakes swimming in the dark window, and Mick called home to say he's not going back until after Christmas, and Rob and Max were making as much noise around him as they could just to be annoying, and Callum laughed at them, doubling over on the couch. And as Marcus watched them, he felt infinite warmth in his chest just like he would have back home if he was with his siblings, and the house still smelled of his mother's brownies even though she was a thousand miles away, and Marcus was grateful to have found a second family to spend his Christmas with.


End file.
